


The Devil May Cry

by flyingisabetterwordforfalling (FlyingFalling)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (Guardian) Angels, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Metaphors, Multi, Reincarnation, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingFalling/pseuds/flyingisabetterwordforfalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enveloped in coldness, however his heart begins to ignite. He knows what will happen, once again. His inner fire was never extinguished, the fire the only familiarity around him. He will need to melt the ice, thaw long lost memories. His hand drops, the light burns his flesh and he sees the figure in front of him, one hand outstretched, he dares to hope, reaching for him. He is on fire, as soon as he grasps it, enveloped by wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the devil may cry

Glaring light forces him to close his eyes. He blinks, looks away. He raises a hand to protect his eyes and fights the urge to give in, to escape. Resisting the urge to take off, to let the light behind and immerse again in the darkness. It is his home, once was and always will be.  
  
His grin, once gentle as well as dangerous is now completely gone. Intently he forces his body to carry him forward. His eyes can hardly get accustomed to the brightness, he blinks, but does not turn to look away from it. Still listening to the voice, unable to understand the words.  
  
He tries to reach for the source of it, the speaker, however his hand will not move. There is no uncertainty that makes him pause, much rather, it is his fear of getting burnt. Burnt again, being on fire as he had been before. The fire is his coat, but not this kind, not such a kindling flame.  
  
Enveloped in coldness, however his heart begins to ignite. He knows what will happen, once again. His inner fire was never extinguished, the fire the only familiarity around him. He will need to melt the ice, thaw long lost memories. His hand drops, the light burns his flesh and he sees the figure in front of him, one hand outstretched, he dares to hope, reaching for him. He is on fire, as soon as he grasps it, enveloped by wings. He hears the crackling around them as these also go up in flames. He sees the smile, tear tracks and knows that the ice has melted long ago.  
  
Screaming Montparnasse openes his eyes, takes a while until he realizes where he is, before he recognizes his bedroom wall in front of him. Not real, not real, it was merely a dream he tries to calm himself, but when he raises his hand, places it on his chest his skin is cold. Trying to take deep breaths he looks around, his angel is nowhere to be seen -as usual. He ignores the wetness on his cheeks, still gasping for breath as he rubs his temples.  
  
He sits up, tucks up his legs and leans against the headboard of his bed. He gazes out the window, over the slightly lit town, its streets. Somewhere out there is his angel, he feels it, knows that he is there. He dreams repeatedly of a winged creature, wakes in darkness and walks toward the light. Catches fire, once he dares to even step too close. Montparnasse lets his head fall back, sighs as he does and with a gentle clack it strikes against the headboard. He closes his eyes and tries to remember the face of his angel. The smile is so bright, it alone could set him on fire.  
  
Whether his angel actually exists or is only a part of his imagination Montparnasse no longer wants to think about it, he knows the answer. His angel is made of flesh and blood, love, power and poetry. His angel is somewhere in the heart of the city, as well as in his own.  
His eyes open again, look over to one of the street lamps, its faint light barely enough illuminates the entire street for him to see clearly, but someone stands beneath it. A seemingly slight figure wrapped in a much too big coat.  
  
Again his mind wanders back to his angel, whether he may have already met him, maybe they already walked by each other in a crowd, maybe they socialize in the same circles. However Montparnasse doubts his consideration, his angel seems to be so pure that Montparnasse even burns in his dreams, when he gets too close. He knows nothing about his angel, and yet so much. His angel is an artist, a lover, wonderful in dealing with words he does not even understand. He is passionate, loving, a fighter.  
  
His gaze wanders almost by itself back to the window. Just in time seeing the person disappear behind the corner of a house. The coat waving in the wind reminds him of wings, he thinks before he cannot keep his eyes open any longer, falling into a restless sleep. He dreams once again of being shrouded in darkness, and moving toward a light -in the distance he hears the stroke of wings, as well as an almost melancholy voice. He has been set alight, once more, this once, letting it happen.

 

 _It won't be in vain_  
_To swallow all your pain_  
_And learn to love what burns_  
_And gather courage to return_

 _Faces in the crowd_  
_Faces in the crowd will smile again_  
_And the devil may cry_  
_The devil may cry at the end of the night_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, once again, inspired by the Weeknd (I've finally accepted said band/singer as kind of my muse for Jehan/Montparnasse stories), now obviously by the song ''Devil May Cry''. Yet the story is supposed to have three chapters -I hope you enjoyed reading this first one. :)


	2. at the end

The rain runs down his back, gradually soaking his coat. But his actual cloak is the night, the darkness his hoad. He is enveloped in it, hidden from all too bright eyes. He turns away, as he feels the eyes rest on him again. Again and again, the man awoke in the night, startled by his mere presence.  
  
He looks up, sees the familiar black hair, the crouching shape on the bed. He almost wants to reveal himself, grab the person by the shoulders, to give comfort. He is not allowed to do so, but already this proximity is against all the rules that have been imposed on him. Just being here is not allowed. He still holds very firmly on to his former humanity anyway. He has no sex, but sees himself as a man.  
  
His former body has long since rotted centuries ago. But he clings to this world, his no longer beating, now barely metaphorical heart belongs here, to this city, its inhabitants. He still loves Paris, each resident and is looking for those he once loved. Still loves. He never found them all, but just occasionally catching glimpses of their presence calms him -the idea that they still have a place in this world, that they as well as their dreams and beliefs are still needed, gives him comfort.  
  
Now his being, seemingly immortal apparel, is only light, yet perceived by humans as a body, if he does not concentrate enough to remain hidden or concentrates too much on not being seen. After all this time he has yet to find a perfect balance between these two stadiums.  
There is still a desire in him to keep in touch with what he loves. He knows that some of the people he used to know centuries ago went to the afterlife or became like him. A celestial being, however not an angel. The others were born again, again and again, never had seen him once in all of their lifes.  
  
If he wants to he can change his form so that it is perceived as any other human being, but in reality it is only a feeling, a storm of emotions and the light of his once pure soul. He never thought about whether he perhaps might be his soul itself without its mortal shell and dares not thinking about it any further.  
  
Jehan thinks about Montparnasse again, felt his call and followed. He must not and can not reveal himself to him, so he wanders into his dreams and gives him unwanted nightmares, believing that showing their contrast is in the only way it deems appropriate to come closer without actually getting far too close. Their mere characters are too different, he terrifies Montparnasse, as his purity burns the dreaming form of the man as Jehan attempts to ease the burden on his soul. In each of his lives he tried to keep his soul as far away from the darkness as he could, but Jehan never quite managed to save it. Deep within himself he knows that a soul can never be entirely pure or corrupt, does not think much about it, in fear of questioning his own existence once more.  
  
He sees it in other beings who are like him. His deeds are neither good nor bad. Combeferre was now like him, the will to help others was stronger than death. It seemed to be their sole purpose to look out for them. But so many had left this world completely for ages. Currently Combeferre and him seem to be the only ones left. He feels it when the other remembers and is close enough to feel his emotions. He misses the people who once were around them, all of them do.   
  
Nevertheless, he will not be as foolish as Joly and try to show himself to his former loved ones, the ones who had been given a renewed life. Bossuet remembered a little of him, but enough to tell his partner, Musichetta, about it. Jehan does not know how it had ended, still Joly disappeared, and by now he finds it increasingly difficult to think about him.  
  
Now Jehan unfolds the wings that are not actual ones, but he needs the symbolic to be visualized, to discern what he had become. He actually takes on the form of an angel as the waving coat blends into wings and he turns away, letting the wind lead him to the place where he suspects to find Combeferre.

It does not take long to find him and he can feel the presence of another being, long before he is greeted with a wave of emotions. Slowly Jehan comes to a halt next to the other, now once again in his actual form, just in front of the windowsill of an apartment, high above the city. It is easier to remain unseen if he does, taking the form of a little glowing light even tinier than a firefly.  
  
A timid glance through the window shows several people gathered comfortably around a room. Without thinking, he knows who he sees. Combeferre flickers a little, his feeble light rushes at once up to the roof.

Jehan follows him, then sits down in a human-like form on the edge of the roof, as Combeferre does the same. He reaches for the other, slightly glad for feeling at least the lightest sense of touch as he pats Combeferre's shoulder. Combeferre looks at him, his eyes a single blazing flame, as he formes words, and Jehan feels their sound.  
  
The image of their erstwhile friends and confidants joins the chain of countless small moments which he can not forget. Again he sees Grantaire, gently stroking the hair of another man while Enjolras leans against his shoulder, sleeping on the couch. Feuilly sitting on Bahorels lap -Grantaire and them are the only ones who are actually watching the movie. A dark-haired man with curly hair is sitting on the floor, leaning his head against Enjolras' legs apparently just as asleep as him. Combeferre's glow flickers again, then his form changes and he is again the faint light hovering over the roof. But the shared thought of Courfeyrac lets him cut the mental link to Jehan. __  
  
Jehan stays in his form, reaching for the light and taking it carefully into his hands, holding it close to his chest where his beating heart once lingered. The light is gradually getting warmer, a little brighter. It reassures them both to know they are still there, together, to  not fall victim to this solitude as Joly had done, who could no longer bear staying away from the ones he loved. Of course, he misses them as deeply, their companionship, the love of his friends. Slowly Jehan opens his hands and the light escapes him, encircles him, then Combeferre heads off into the darkness.

 

 

_The light will shine through the rain_  
_And heaven will hear them call your name_  
_And home will feel like home again_  
_Corruption will fill your brain_

_Faces in the crowd_  
_Faces in the crowd will smile again_  
_And the devil may cry_  
_The devil may cry at the end of the night_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, I hope you enjoyed this (as well). :)


	3. of the night

Years later Combeferre and Jehan are again outside of a building, hidden in the darkness of the night, once again looking through a window. Combeferre's glow is barely a flicker by now, and Jehan moves a bit closer to him. It is no longer enough simply knowing not to be alone, at least having one another.  
  
Could he still show human emotions, Jehan imagines, Combeferre would desperately try to enter the building. However now he seems to be completely free of emotion. He cannot even take on a human-like form anymore, had lost this ability after Courfeyrac had died a few decades ago. Combeferre had lost his bright light after the human's passing, was now a mere glimmer of light. By now he seemed to lose evermore heat, became gradually colder. Jehan tries to share his heat, forcing his being to change its form and embraces Combeferre in the only way he can. He puts his hands around the faint light and holds it close to his chest.  
  
No tears run down his cheeks, but a seemingly endless black hole of grief threatens to devour him whole. Their friends died again, a few decades before the twenty-first century. Their names were not disclosed when they were killed, victims of hatred, violence and rejection. They had loved each other and then had died for it.  
  
The second decade of the new century has begun and their friend had already come back to life, reborn once more, Jehan's light gets a little brighter when he recognizes some of them down there. He shifts around on the windowsill, not actually sitting on it, still slightly nervous. Until recently they were students, now down there is a young man, dancing with his wife. The newly wed couple has only eyes for each other. Jehan remembers their names vaguely, although it is possible that they now have others -a long time ago they were called Marius and Cosette. He recognizes Grantaire as well as Enjolras, they look different, but their attitude and facial expression has never changed completely. A girl, no rather a young woman looks over to the newlyweds, her look almost distant.  
  
Next to her is someone, and Jehan does not even have to look over to know them, feeling their presence already. As he always does. The man touches his forehead with a slightly pained expression, shakes his head, as the woman glances at him from the side and reaches for his arm, she seems worried -Jehan is as well.  
  
Then he turns away as he remembers being out of breath, a rapidly beating heart. After sinking from the window sill, down on the floor, he does not hesitate as he slips through the open glass door. He could easily get in as he is, but he preferred doors, only enters a building, even a room if it is allowed or appropriate. Now after all this time, he finally knows when he will be seen and when not.  
  
Almost melancholically he watches Feuilly and Bahorel for a while, dancing a slow waltz near the entrance, they do not even startle when he causes a slight breeze, in his effort to hold on to Combeferre. Who does not at all seem enthusiastic about Jehan's plan to approach the humans.  
  
His glow is however faint, seems to get even weaker when Jehan turns around and reveals even more people, long lost yet never completely forgotten. A teenager, almost still a child, dressed in a fine suit, which somehow does not seem to fit him, playfully dances with an adult. Together the unlikely couple rotates in small circles through the room, the child laughs. Jehan releases Combeferre, and watches as his faint glow moves toward the man.  
  
Jehan feels the chaos of emotions, which suddenly overcomes him and he wants to smile. He guessed that Combeferre was still able to feel, just kept everything hidden far away from him. Almost as if attracted by a magnet he moves past the others, heading for Montparnasse as Combeferre heads to Courfeyrac. Different, something is different, Jehan knows it before he actually comprehends his thought.  
  
Suddenly Montparnasse's encloses his friend's wrist and he pulls her with him, out, out into the open, away from Jehan. He wants to follow them, as he notices the man's struggle to walk, when a glaring light makes him stop. But he is not the only one, the people around him are staring at a spot, as Courfeyrac moves to where Combeferre's faint glimmer of light had been mere seconds ago.  
  
The light is gone, extinguished and Jehan panics. Combeferre extinguished, he turns away, rushes through the open door. Passing the young woman who almost frantically and with a worried expression holds now Montparnasse's hand. The man is kneeling on the floor, and Feuilly and Bahorel hurry already over to them.  
  
But not even that can stop Jehan. Combeferre, no, not Combeferre as well.  
Jehan is alone, on his own. His other friends mortal, and they will leave him soon.  
The will die eventually. After Joly now even Combeferre. Alone, without them.  
  
"Stay.", he hears, as he wants nothing more than to flee.   
  
Montparnasse still kneeling on the ground, sounds breathless, his voice strained, and Jehan knows that it is an echo of his rapidly beating heart, which he feels in his chest.

"I know you're here. Stay with me."  
  
  
He changes his shape, forms wings out of sadness and grief, feathers out of his desire for secureness, he glows stronger than he ever did before, every single emotion he is able to feel, every fibre of his being as well as Combeferre's priorly shown and felt emotions running through him.  
  
Jehan turns around.  
  


 

_They will parade upon your victory_  
_They will parade upon your victory_  
_You'll put a smile upon their faces_  
_The world will be yours for the taking_  
_The story you birth will be ageless_  
_Just learn to love pain and be patient_

_Faces in the crowd_  
_Faces in the crowd will smile again_  
_And the devil may cry_  
_The devil may cry at the end of the night_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I kind of want to write a longer story about this, who knows, maybe I actually do that some day.  
> -Thank you for reading this, I hope you liked it. :)


End file.
